


Secret Smile, October 1974

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Detectives, Drive By Shootings, Gang Wars, Gangs, Gen, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City, Protective Custody, hand guns, homicides, illegal arms dealing, murders, switchblades, witnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Kojak’s thoughts concerning the events that occurred in the Season 2 episode 'Nursemaid' with a few changes and bits addedThis is an original story set in October 1974Feedback welcome





	Secret Smile, October 1974

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> Spoilers: Major spoilers for the Season 2 episode 'Nursemaid', and lesser ones for my story 'New Beginnings' 
> 
> in this episode Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 31 in 1974, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him is younger at 23. In the season 1 episode “Deliver us Some Evil” (1974) Crocker mentions a sister, but since she's never mentioned again, I've created my own version of her. She is the only 'biological' relative I'm allowing him to have. And as little is known about his back story, I've made up my own.
> 
> Original characters: None
> 
> Glossary:  
> Schmegehgeh = In Yiddish, a big idiot  
> Mishigas = In Yiddish, stupidity, craziness, irresponsible behaviour
> 
> Enjoy!

Present day

“Frank!” I yelled, “Leave me with ONE Spanish-speaking detective would ya!”

I was standing in the captain’s office looking at the staff chart for the period covering the Christmas break. It was only October, but the sooner we got the job done the better and, as in previous years, the task was proving to be a real pain. I heard a noise and looked toward the door to where Crocker was standing, a slight smile on his face. It was the kind of indulgent smile a grandparent might give a grandchild as they watched them at play. I wondered what thoughts had been running through his head while he'd been watching Frank and me bickering about the rota.

As soon as he saw me looking at him the smile disappeared, and he cleared his throat, walked into the room and handed Frank some reports for signing before heading back to the squad room.

Last Saturday night

“You can’t imagine why ANYONE would want to shoot Willis, and you think that they’re all crazy. Is THAT your statement?” I yelled angrily at the young kid sitting on the chair in front of my desk. I’d been half way out of the squad room heading for home when Crocker had phoned from the hospital to say that there had been a gang fight down town and several members of The Ambassadors had been shot and a kid named Willis had been killed. ‘Bobsie’, as the kid in my office was known, had received a bullet graze to his right arm, which was now in a sling.

“I didn’t say none of that!” he replied defiantly. I put my arm on the back of the chair and leaned into his face.

“You were getting ready to; I thought I’d save you the trouble!” I informed him sarcastically. ‘Bobsie’ looked at me,

“As a matter of fact I CAN tell you what kind of car,” he replied, “it was a ’69 Cutlass, and they wasn’t wearing nothin’ on their faces. But I STILL didn’t recognise none of them!” I dropped my head onto his shoulder.

“Oh… Bobsie.” I began as I stood up and walked round to his other side and sat on the corner of my desk. “We GOT the car; it was a 1957 Pontiac, and it was blue! Now can you and me, can we have an intelligent grown-up conversation?” I asked. ‘Bobsie’ looked down at his shoes. “Now who was in the car and who shot Willis?” Silence. “The ‘code of the West’ right? Was it the Cavaliers?”

“The which?” he snorted. “There aint been no Cavaliers since the merger!”

“Who then?” I asked

“The Valentines, the Club Quatro… could be anyone!” I leaned over and picked up a sheet of paper from my desk and waved it in front of him.

“Ta da!” I looked at the sheet of paper, leant forward and showed it to ‘Bobsie’. “Now this is very peculiar; the one outfit that’s closest to you, The Marauders; that’s the ONE outfit you forgot to mention!” I laughed and screwed the paper up in his face before tossing it on the floor.

Last Sunday morning

I was leaning against the wall outside The Marauder’s headquarters with Crocker, waiting for someone to arrive and open up. After about half an hour we struck gold. 

“I think we’ve found our custodian.” I remarked as my detective brought a skinny fair-haired kid over to me. 

“My name is Robert Xavier Jurgen, and I reside at 411 West 19th Street and I am currently unemployed,” the young man offered. I told him to open the door. He tried to resist,

“What makes you think you can…?”

“What makes you think you can go in there without a search warrant?” I finished for him. “That’s why I got up bright and early this morning and went and got one!” I tapped him on the face with the paper, “Open the door!” I repeated. Reluctantly he led us down the steps to the door and using his key opened it and let us in. 

We found ourselves standing in a room dominated by a pool table, flashing disco lights on the walls, a record player, refrigerator… all the usual club house paraphernalia. Crocker began searching for weapons while ‘Xavier’, as I’d decided to call him, sat himself on the pool table and I stood nearby.

“So what did you think of that Willis kid, I mean, personally?” I asked.

“Nothin’; we never met. We travelled in different circles.” ‘Xavier’ replied.

“The Ambassadors keep you up late nights kid? Are they crowding your neighbourhood?” I pushed.

“Hey, if you’re looking for weapons, all that ‘stuff’ went out in the Fifties; where you been?” 'Xavier' replied. Crocker finished his search and wandered over.

“It’s clean; TOO clean!” he remarked as he came and stood quietly at the end of the pool table.

“Oh it STINKS!” I replied, “I’ve never busted a club house yet without findin’ something; a converted cap pistol, a couple blades; something!”

“This is just a class joint I guess huh?” ‘Xavier’ remarked.

I laughed and paced round the pool table while ‘Xavier’ watched.

“What’s your leader’s name?” I asked. He looked away. “Now look ‘Xavier’, we got a file on every street gang in New York. You know it’s very simple for me to go down town; I pick up the portfolio on The Marauders and in one hour I come up with everything I wanna know. But you could tell us in five minutes, and you’re probably sayin’ to yourself; ‘Lieutenant Kojak… sir… why should I be doin’ your work for you?’ And you know something ‘Xavier’? You’re right, you’re not supposed to, except that you’re a parole violator and you’re not supposed to be in this joint in the FIRST place. What’s your Parole Officer’s name; Leavy?”

“What a way to make a living, hustling kids!” ‘Xavier’ remarked. I took him by the shoulders. 

“You’re right, totally totally right,” I remarked, over-acting, “and I’m ashamed. Now why don’t you take me to your leader? What’s his name?” Knowing he’d lost the argument ‘Xavier’ looked away and sighed.

“Gallagher.”

****

Having arranged for some help for Crocker I left him down town with instructions to search the area around the Marauder’s club house for any weapons. He knew these gangs so I figured if anyone could find the arsenal used in last night's gun battle it would be him. In the meantime I was in the captain's office looking over the file we had on this Gallagher. 

“He lives with his parents and scares the hell out of them too. But they loosened up a little bit. He’s got an uncle who lives in Pennsylvania; and whenever the kid gets into deep trouble, he heads down there.” I reported.

“Have you 'wired' Pennsylvania?” Frank asked.

“Oh yeah: If he shows, they’ll ‘nail’ him.” I replied.

“What about the others?” Frank asked as he sat down. I started pacing round the room.

“Well according to Jurgen, Louie Wiley was in the back with Gallagher. He might still be in town, but his aunt was no help. I think the driver was a kid named Brinkleman; we picked him up, but so far he hasn’t talked… and they stole the car the night before out in Queens… we got partial prints and we’re trying to match them up now.” I replied.

“I don’t understand these kids; they don’t think they just act!” Frank replied angrily. I sat down on the corner of his desk.

“You know Frank these Marauders are an old outfit. I think when Truman was in the White House was when they were formed and these kids, they serve their five years, they get their education, they get their contacts…”

“Well I guess we’ll probably ‘nail’ all of them in two weeks at the outside. That's some victory.” Frank replied. I stood up and walked over to the window. “What is it Theo, in particular?” he asked.

“Willis; seventeen years old, skin like a baby, nice loose-lipped kid, probably played a great game of basketball. You know they say we’re supposed to get used to things like this, isn’t that the rumour?” At that moment the phone rang.

“McNeil. Yeah he’s here…. We’re coming!” Frank put the phone down and looked at me, “Crocker; they’ve found the arsenal!” We grabbed our hats and coats and headed back down town.

****

Arriving back at the club house, we walked over to the pool table which was now covered in hand guns of all shapes and sizes and a selection of switchblades. I sat on the table smoking a cigarillo and picked up a gun and studied it. Frank picked up another gun. Crocker paced round the table as he provided us with his report. 

“We found them hidden behind the pipes in the lot next door,” he began.

“Any of them look like they’ve been fired?” Frank asked.

“No sir, but they’re all loaded ready to go,” Crocker replied. I examined the gun in my hand. My detective came over and stood by my left shoulder. 

“Five in the clip, one in the chamber, what do these nine millimetres take; a three-eighty don’t they?” I asked. Frank nodded.

“Right! And three-eighties are what was dug out of Willis and the other kid’s rear ends!” Crocker replied. I picked up a weapon that looked like it had come out of a science fiction movie.

“Look at this. There’s half a chance it’ll either blow up or misfire. Either way they don’t have much velocity.” I remarked. Crocker picked up a switchblade, and pressed the button on the handle to open it while I picked up another gun “Hey look at this Frank,” I remarked, “First class stuff; what the hell are kids doing with it?”

“’Xavier’ said Gallagher bought them in from his own source and no-one else in the club knows where they came from!” Crocker replied moving to stand between me and Frank.

“How were they delivered?” I asked him.

“He says Gallagher brought them in!” He replied.

“In what; paper bags, cartons, cases?” I yelled.

“A couple of cartons, and then they took them outside…”

“And they burned them in order to fry ‘Mickeys’, but you wouldn’t know about frying ‘Mickeys’ being from where, Jackson Heights?” Crocker dropped his head, a move not missed by our captain. I hadn’t meant to hurt the kid's feelings, especially after the good job he’d done in finding the weapons. I was proud of the job he'd done, but this was children hurting other children and it made me mad. I picked up another gun and looked at it. “Serial number filed down; that figures.”

“Maybe the lab can raise them. You know; the acid bath.” Frank suggested.

“They’re pretty deep Frank. I doubt it, but what the hell…we’ll give it a shot anyway.”

Last Monday morning

Feeling impatient I decided to go down to the lab at the Police Academy first thing to check on their progress. A team of people were working on the guns and had come up with some partial serial numbers. I grabbed the phone and called Crocker at the precinct.

“Yeah, so far we got what looks like a series ending in 0-1-4… are you jotting it down Crocker? Alight, now three separate weapons, the first two numbers are all…6-8, manufacturers Fowler Armaments, call them right away…. FOWLER; you got the catalogue right there…!” I yelled down the phone.

Last Tuesday morning

I walked through the squad room toward my office. I noticed Crocker was on the phone talking excitedly and busy making notes. Moments later he arrived in my office with a file and began reading from it.

“Koster Sporting Goods… serial numbers 68915 to 69014 inclusive, shipped from Fowler Armaments three weeks ago.” He reported.

“Where’s he located?” I asked

“Broom Street.”

I grabbed my hat and walked out of my office. Crocker walked over to his desk, grabbed his jacket and followed.

****

Within half an hour we were standing inside the premises at 12-24 Broom Street. Koster Sporting Goods: all kinds of guns for all kinds of ‘occasions’. I looked round the room. The main area of the shop was edged by two counters at right-angles to one another, behind which were gun racks and boxes of ammunition. Between the two counters was a gap to allow access and behind was a door leading to the back of the store, possibly providing access to storage or office space. Crocker showed his ID to Lou Koster, the owner. The man was about fifty, although judging by his fake looking hair piece, high-heeled shoes and garish suit he was trying, and failing, to look younger, perhaps to attract the ladies. 

“How can I help you?” Koster asked smiling. The guy had way too many teeth.

“Well, we’re investigating some weapons Mr Koster," I replied. ”Nine-millimetre automatics,” I took off my glasses and put them in my pocket, “you see last week a young kid was killed: shot to death by one from a shipment from the Fowler Armaments Company to you.” Koster looked away.

“Oh that’s awful!” He appeared genuinely shocked.

“Those are our sentiments exactly, so you can understand why we’re here.” I took a lollypop out of my pocket, and walked round the shop, stopping to pick up and examine a decoy duck as I passed. Koster wiped his brow nervously and followed me but remained behind the counter. Crocker moved to stand in the gap between the two counters, just in case Koster decided to make a run for it. 

“Of course, of course, well ah look lieutenant, I’m just a conduit in this case. I shipped those guns out to several dealers out of state.” Koster began.

“Shipped how?” I asked. I put the duck back down on the counter and took the wrapper off the lollypop.

“Air Express. Hey you know those shipments are robbed all the time; maybe that’s what happened to MY guns!” I put the lollypop in my mouth.

“Oh. Well these shipments are insured I guess.” I asked.

“Certainly!” Koster replied. 

“So if there was a theft you’d be the first to know.” I took the lollypop back out of my mouth.

“I guess so, yes.” Koster replied.

“Would you have the names and the addresses of these dealers from out of state?” I asked.

“Yeah, well that would be in my transaction record book,” Koster replied all smiles, “hold on.” He walked through the door behind the counter into the back of the shop. I put the lollypop back in my mouth, took my glasses out of my pocket and unfolded them, and went behind the counter and had a look round while Crocker peered through the door into the office/storage area. We ended up standing between the two counters looking at the contents of a padlocked wooden display case.

“It’s a one-man shop operation, no overheads. Looks like he does OK. Do you think he might be hustling guns to the street gangs?” Crocker asked.

“Oh Crocker! Did you ever watch Candid Camera?” I asked. He hadn't, so I decided to enlighten him. “They got people, they talk to mail boxes. They got these little old ladies who play the Star Spangled Banner with hot tyre irons, they got a guy, I saw him eat a telephone book, so nothing in the world surprises me baby!” Crocker dropped his head and smiled that secret smile of his: there one moment, gone the next. “In the meantime we check him out huh.” Crocker raised his head, the smile gone. “Who knows, we try to squeeze him on our side, maybe he’s being squeezed, I mean maybe he’s dying to confess, satisfy his conscious, maybe, maybe and like that.” Koster walked back into the shop all smiles.

“Lieutenant, this is stupid, but it doesn’t appear to be there. Maybe my book-keeper still has it.” Crocker walked round behind him. I took off my hat.

“Could you have misplaced it in another part of the store Mr Koster?” I asked.

“No, and it’s not at home. I never take it there.” Crocker had moved closer to Koster and was now standing right behind him with his arms folded. “Look if it’s possible, could you just give me a couple of days, I’m sure I can find it.” I walked back in front of the counter and took the lollypop out of my mouth. 

“Are you sure it’s only a matter of a couple of days Mr Koster?” I asked suspiciously. The man was afraid of something or someone, but whether he was more afraid of them or of me was hard to tell.

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?” He demanded. I started pacing back and forth, waving the lollypop in the air.

“Hey look, we can end this conversation right now, right?” I began, “I mean I look at this detective here, and we give you a nod and say ‘alright we’ll check with you on Thursday’. But let’s use that word the lawyers use, what is it? ‘Hypothetical’; that’s a Greek word, did you know? It means three other guys, not us; well hypothetically.” Koster looked worried. “We know that a gun dealer, any gun dealer is exposed to all kinds of pressure, vulnerable with all kinds of people you know: ugly people… dangerous people. We know that and we understand it, and we can help.” Koster regained his composure and looked me in the eye. 

“What kind of help… for this hypothetical guy I mean?” He asked.

“Well for example… if he’s exposed to any physical danger, we put him under what we call protective custody.” I replied. Koster smiled back at me.

“You mean IF he cooperated… IF he talked,” I put lollypop back in my mouth and walked over to him.

“No, no, no. Whether he cooperated, whether he talked, it makes no difference. Just as long as he’s part of our case, do you understand? Now hypothetically, does any of this make sense to you?” I asked. Koster continued to smile.

“Sure, hypothetically. But there’s nothing to say!” He turned his back on us. I looked at Crocker who was as concerned as I was. Clearly Mr Koster had no idea how much danger he was in. Angrily I bit the top off my lollypop, took the stick out of my mouth and threw it on the floor. I put my hat on and took a small piece of card from my pocket. I noticed it was a business card from a local florist, but I scribbled out their number and wrote my number in its place.

“Look, I’ve put my number down here in case you change your mind,” I handed him the card.

“Thanks!” He replied still smiling. I really wanted to wipe that grin off his face.

“We’ll check with you on Thursday,” I replied frustrated. Together Crocker and I left the shop, got back in the car and headed back to the precinct.

Last Tuesday afternoon

I was in my office reading a report. I looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw Crocker standing in the doorway.

“Lieutenant, Harrisburg Police just picked up Gallagher.” He told me as he leant back against the door.

“Did he have a weapon?” I got up and walked over to where he was standing.

“Yeah, but he decided to make a stand.” Crocker dropped his head, something I’ve noticed he often does when he’s bothered or upset by something. I stopped walking and looked at him.

“Well don’t be diplomatic about it Crocker. Is he dead?” I asked. I stood in front of him and he nodded.

“They said he didn’t give them any choice,” he replied sadly. 

“Using a nine-millimetre automatic?” I asked.

“You got it. No way around it, it’s the same batch from Koster’s.” Crocker replied looking back up.

“OK; no more ‘Mr Wonderful’ for Mr Koster. Go out and pick him up.” I ordered. Crocker yelled for Saperstein and the two of them headed back down town.

An hour later they returned to the precinct empty handed. It looked as if Lou Koster had made his decision; the man had closed up his shop and disappeared. 

In the meantime a woman giving her name as 'Susan Hayward' had telephoned the 19th Precinct, which covers the Upper East Side, to report a kidnapping. She’d provided the name of the victim and the colour and licence plate of the car involved. The car had later been found abandoned and taken to the impound yard. The body of a male in his fifties had been found in the trunk. It was our missing gun dealer. 

Last Wednesday morning

The report was waiting on my desk for me when I arrived at the precinct. I picked it up, skimmed through it and then headed across the landing to the captain's office. 

“We’re one step behind them Frank, a half a step. I hate it! And now we’re cut off from the gun seller at both ends!” 

“Did you talk to the desk sergeant at the Nineteenth about the woman who called in?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I put my drink down and started pacing, “she said ‘I think they kidnapped a man’ and one of the ‘snatchers’ was ‘bald on the top of his head’.” I turned and looked at Frank, “But tell me this, how can you tell that unless you’re looking down?” I indicated with my hands. There was a knock at the door and Crocker came into the room with some books and a large file. I’d sent him back down to Koster’s shop to see if he could find the missing ledger and anything else that might be pertinent to our investigation.

“Excuse me captain, lieutenant,” Crocker began respectfully, “this is everything from Koster’s back room, except there’s no record of the guns.” 

“Yeah well he must have burnt it. What have you got?” I took the file from the bottom of the pile he was carrying and opened it.

“Regular ledgers, an address book and income tax forms for the last five years.” Crocker replied and put the books on Frank’s desk and went back to the squad room. I walked toward the desk, sat on the corner and began looking through the file.

“Bernice M Sandler, Certified Public Accountant, 24 Broom Street…” I read aloud. I wondered if she’d been the person who had called the Nineteeth. I decided to pay her a visit.

****

Mrs Sandler’s apartment overlooked the rear of Koster’s shop, and in my opinion she was definitely the mystery lady who’d phoned the Nineteeth last evening. The room we were standing in had a large window that overlooked the man’s parking space, and was tastefully decorated with lots of photographs, pictures and plates hanging on the walls. There were also shelves of books and ornaments, probably collected over a lifetime. The woman herself was in her sixties and feisty. She was pacing round the room with a small grey dog in her arms while I stood over by the window admiring the view. I broke the news to her that Lou Koster had been killed 

“That poor schmegehgeh.” She began, “You know I KNEW there was something screwy goin’ on.” She stopped pacing and stood opposite me at the window looking out.

“Oh did you? Why?” I asked.

“Oh well I…” she looked at me, “well I’m entitled to an opinion aren’t I? Why look so alarmed…” she asked.

“I’m just looking for something more specific.” I replied.

“You gotta specific question; I’ll give you a specific answer,” she told me.

“Alright you gotta deal. You looked over his books recently?” I asked.

“How much is recently?” She asked back.

“The last month?” I suggested.

“Well sure; it’s what I’m supposed to get paid for.” She replied.

“Look, Mrs Sandler. This window,” I pointed to the glass next to us. “This is a box seat to Koster’s kidnapping. You did the right thing by calling the police so don’t be afraid!” I tried to sound reassuring.

“Are you kidding!” She carried the dog back across the room and turned to face me. “Listen, some guy, a stranger, years ago, he told the police about Willy Sutton, and bingo! They ‘knocked him off’. I called NOBODY!” She laid the dog down in its bed. “You know Koster could have killed himself, did you ever think of that?” she suggested.

“What, shot himself in the back of the neck?” I replied. She looked shocked, and immediately calmed down.

“Oh, I didn’t know that…” she shook her head.

“Alright, so what’s so ‘screwy’ about his business?” I asked. She dropped her head, and turning walked away from me and sat down in an armchair.

“Well, that car of his, and those fancy schmansy clothes… he didn’t get that from the business. He had bills backed up like a traffic jam, and his ‘volume’ was way down this year.” She replied.

“Any loans outstanding?” I asked.

“No, not on HIS credit.”

“You used to go down to the store a lot. Did you see anyone that looked like a hoodlum?” I asked.

“What’s a hoodlum look like? You know I see plenty of policemen; they look like hoodlums…” she was getting ansty and got up off the chair. “Look I need a little nap; I nap a lot because I don’t sleep straight through. Are we finished?” She asked.

“Whoever called the police knew Koster by name, knew his car… who’s your favourite actress?” I asked, even though I thought I already knew.

“Look officer…” she began

“The officer IS looking lady, and you know what he sees? Something very understandable: a lady who wants no part in this, and for that I have a certain amount of sympathy. But I’ve ALSO got a certain amount of pension and I aint gonna see a nickel unless I keep doing my job just a little bit longer. Now you saw somebody ‘snatch’ Koster and I need a description,” I snapped my fingers. “I got it! Susan Hayward!” I picked up my hat and put it on then walked over to Mrs Sandler’s chair and grabbed her hat and purse. “Have you had your lunch?” I asked.

“Who can eat?” she asked back.

“YOU can eat!” I replied, “Come on. You and I? We gotta lot to talk about.” I escorted her out of the door.

Last Wednesday evening

Back at the precinct I was sitting on my desk cogitating. Mrs Sandler was out in the squad room providing a statement. A light went on in my head. 

“Tradition!” I said to myself and walked out into the squad room.

“Look, I don’t think we’re getting no place," Mrs Sandler moaned. I stopped and kissed her hand before heading over to where Crocker was stood doing some filing. 

“You send back that Marauder file yet?” I asked. He leaned over, grabbed the file and looked at me apologetically. 

“No. I meant to but…” he began.

“Well don’t apologise. Your instincts are improving!” I teased.

“My old lady will be thrilled!” He remarked. By ‘old lady’ I knew he meant Molly his foster mother, in whose eyes he could do no wrong. I took the file over to where Mrs Sandler was sat and opened it. Crocker came over and sat on the desk next to her.

“Now these ‘lovelies’ are part of a gang,” I informed her as I showed her the yellow sheets, “Now if anyone strikes a chord…” I kept turning the pages and then she made a sound to indicate she recognised someone. I snatched the sheet from the folder and looked at it with Crocker, “Jerry Baylis, get him!” I ordered. Crocker called to Stavros, and the two of them headed out. I turned my attention back to Mrs Sandler.

****

My detectives had found Baylis enjoying a quiet evening in his apartment, and within the hour he was at the station standing in a line-up. Mrs Sandler looked through the window, turned to me and nodded. 

“That’s him.” She said, pointing right at Baylis.

“Both times?” I asked.

“In the store and in the car; he was driving with the bald-headed man and the other one.” She replied as she walked back across the squad room. At that moment Frank walked through the door.

“Theo…” he began,

“Hey Frank, this dear lady just made us a case.” I replied, feeling very pleased.

“We’re very grateful…” Frank replied to Mrs Sandler.

“Terrific. Now if I could make a graceful exit already…” she looked round the room. “It’s not my idea of a second home…” Mine neither I thought, although to most of us it was our FIRST home. 

“Ah Mrs Sandler, I’m afraid…” Frank began, nervously.

“WHAT? What NOW?!” Mrs Sandler replied clearly upset.

“We've got visitors.” Frank informed me as he walked back out of the door; Saperstein escorted Mrs Sandler to a chair. I followed the captain to his office where two gentlemen were waiting.

“Lieutenant Kojak, this is Mr Sutter of the United States Attorney’s Office," Frank began, "and I won’t bother to introduce Mr Houghton of the District Attorney’s Office, who we all know, love and respect.” 

“And the same to you ‘Charlie'," Houghton replied in fun.

“I love him, but I don’t respect him.” I teased back.

“You sound very cheerful Theo,” Houghton commented.

“Yeah progress, you know progress always makes me cheerful.” I replied smiling.

“Well obviously we’ve got a federal case,” Frank added. I began to pace up and down the room. 

“No, no, no. We got a federal gun law violation, against Lou Koster. But he’s got the greatest immunity there IS.” I replied.

“What about Baylis?” Sutter asked.

“Oh yeah, Baylis. He’s involved with a guy by the name of Marty Clifford; you know a strong arm, extortion etc etc.” I replied as I leant on the file cabinet. “But that’s all street talk; we’ve got nothing good enough for an arrest. The other guy, C C Hinton: the balding guy; he’s a real 'torpedo'.”

“So the scenario you’re developing is the fact that Clifford pressured Koster into supplying guns and Baylis is the muscle.” Houghton posited.

“And Clifford and Baylis and company sold the guns to the Marauders. Is that about right?” Sutter contributed. I put a cigarillo in my mouth.

“Yeah, and not forgetting one little detail, about the homicide which is why Mr Baylis is still with us at the moment.” I added as I crossed the room. Frank and I looked over at Sutter.

“What have you got in mind?” Frank asked him.

“Well obviously the homicide takes precedence,” he replied, getting up from where he was sat on the corner of Frank’s desk and walking over to the file cabinet. “We’ll back off as far as the Federal Grand Jury is concerned. If it looks like we’ve got a sound case we’ll get an indictment against Baylis for murder. Maybe he’ll lay out the whole 'racket' for us.” He stepped away from the file cabinet. “Is this lady a good witness for the jury?” He asked me while I was lighting my cigarillo.

“Oh, she can crucify Baylis. But she’s a little shaky; I’m afraid she might not testify.” I walked over to where Houghton had positioned himself, “When's our slot before the Grand Jury?” I asked him.

“Well it’ll be a couple of days,” he replied.

“In the meantime I strongly recommend protective custody – if she goes for it.” Sutter added. 

“That’s a big 'if'.” I replied.

“Well maybe you’d better broach it to her right now Theo,” Frank suggested. I looked back at him.

“YOU’RE the senior officer Frank, why don’t YOU ‘broach’ her for a change!” Together we walked out of the door and back to the squad room.

****

I invited Mrs Sandler into my office and offered her the chair in front of my desk, Frank and I faced her, each of us sitting on a corner of the desk. 

“What kind of mishigas...?” she began impatiently.

“Mrs Sandler, we regard you as a VERY important witness,” Frank replied, trying to sound complimentary.

“Then don’t treat me like a crook!” she replied sharply. I got up and walked toward the door swirling the ice cubes in my drink as I went. 

“I’m not sure that you understand the meaning of protective custody,” Frank tried to explain. But Mrs Sandler wasn’t having any.

“I had a cousin; she served six months in jail once. They thought SHE was pretty important too.” She replied. I took a sip of my drink and watched from the door.

“Oh YOU sound as if you’re talking about a material witness,” Frank emphasised.

“What, there’s a difference?” She asked.

“Oh a WORLD of a difference!” Frank replied. He stood up and leant over her shoulder. “You wouldn’t be in jail for one thing; you’d be put up at a first-class hotel, at our expense naturally…” he explained.

“With a bunch of police huh?” She asked. 

“Oh no; hand-picked people; the BEST we’ve got!” I knew Frank was thinking of Crocker and at that moment I began to feel sorry for the kid. Apart from Frank and myself he really WAS the best we had, but I also knew babysitting a little old lady was never gonna make his top ten favourite assignments list.

“Well how long would this go on?” Mrs Sandler asked. Frank looked at me and then moved away from the desk.

“Well… it’s impossible to be absolutely sure, you know…” He stammered.

“Fine, fine! When you’re absolutely sure you give me a ring!” She replied angrily, getting up and walking toward the door. I moved across to block her exit and tried to explain things to her.

“Lady. If WE know you’re Lou Koster’s book-keeper, ‘THEY’ know, and if WE know you picked Baylis out of a line-up, ‘THEY’ know it, comprende?” She shook her head.

“What a way to make a living; scaring poor little old ladies.” She replied looking at us. “What’s your idea of a first-class hotel?” she cheekily asked as she realised she was going to be given something for nothing.

****

Crocker and I escorted Mrs Sandler back to her apartment to pack and then the three of us headed over to the hotel. The DA’s office keeps a couple of rooms in midtown for people who like our witness were in protective custody. During the drive across town I had to explain that it would be Crocker and not me staying with her. She was not pleased, and I had to reassure her more than once that despite his youth, Crocker was more than capable of doing his job. 

Once I’d signed us in at the desk, using fake names of course, we went up to our room. Mrs Sandler was not pleased with that either.

“Geez, how much do the ‘pirates’ charge for a room like this?” she demanded to know.

“Well whatever they charge, they’re not going to get it from US, we pay municipal rates.” I reassured her. She walked over to the window and began to inspect the drapes.

“Look at those curtains, what an ‘operation’ this high-class hotel is. Look even the pinch pleats don’t match!” As she pulled back the netting Crocker rushed across the room and pulled her away from the window.

“Mrs Sandler… please don’t…” He pleaded and pulled the blind down. She looked back at me, and was about to say something, but I got in first.

“Now look honey; you gotta bear with us. We got this regulation about standing next to the window. You gotta pull the drapes and so on…” There was a knock at the door. “Speak!” I yelled as I shoved a lollypop into my mouth.

“It’s Holloway,” a female voice replied. I went down the short hallway and opened the door. Crocker moved away from the window and went to stand next to Mrs Sandler, just in case. 

“Here Holloway, come on.” I headed back down the hallway, she followed.

“Mrs Sandler… ah what do they call you… Bernice, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Mrs Sandler replied sharply.

“Well this is Doris Holloway; she’ll be with you for the duration.”

“Nice to meet you,” Holloway offered politely.

“Officer Holloway has been loaned to us from the 14th Precinct.” I smiled at her, lollypop in hand. She was an attractive young lady; fair hair, blue eyes, nice smile…

“It’s Sergeant,” she corrected, bringing me out of my reverie.

“Oh. Sergeant Holloway, I’m sorry.” I apologised.

“What is SHE, a chaperone?” Mrs Sandler asked.

“More like a companion I guess.” Holloway replied. She walked over to Mrs Sandler. I noticed Crocker was smiling to himself, no doubt pleased that the woman was now moaning about someone other than HIM. Holloway spotted the small dog in Mrs Sandler’s arms and asked his name.

“Susan,” she replied coldly. “And she hates noses that are shaped like yours!” Mrs Sandler walked across the room to me. I could see she wasn’t at all impressed with having not one, but now two young officers looking after her.

“Whoops!” Holloway remarked. Mrs Sandler looked at me sharply.

“Where’s SHE gonna sleep huh? You know there are only two bedrooms in this suite.”

“Yeah well honey, there are TWO beds in your room.”

“I shared a bedroom with my husband, Howard Sandler, for over thirty-five years and I’m not going to come out of retirement now.” I could see Crocker was still smiling, probably because it was now MY turn to get it ‘front and centre’ from Mrs Sandler. “Which is my bedroom?” she asked. I pulled my lollypop out of my mouth and pointed it at the room at the end of the lounge.

“It’s in there.” I informed her, stuffing the lollypop back in my mouth.

“I think I’ll take a nap now.” She walked toward the farther of the two bedrooms. Crocker closed the door behind her. I looked at my team.

“OK now look, I’ll have them send up a couple of cots later. In the meantime Holloway, your bedroom’s in there.” I pointed to the other bedroom. 

“SHE’s a doll, isn’t she?” Crocker remarked, still smiling.

“I’m not surprised. You’ve got a small ego problem working there.” Holloway replied.

“Hers or mine?” I asked.

“Hers” Holloway replied, “Some of that hair comes off when the cold cream goes on. She doesn’t want us to know it. She’ll loosen up after a while. She likes YOU though; YOU’RE the only one she looks straight in the eye.” 

“Maybe you remind her of her husband,” Crocker remarked cheekily and quickly dropped his head. I took the lollypop out of my mouth and nudged his arm. I might be the only person Mrs Sandler looked at directly, but I’d noticed something Holloway hadn’t; the occasional glances our charge was giving Crocker from under her fake eyelashes. I had the feeling that if anyone reminded her of her late husband it was HIM. 

“Come on you’re kidding.” I began. Crocker looked up and cleared his throat. “Howard Sandler is gone, and so am I.” I remarked as I put my hat on and took my leave. I had a nice quiet evening planned and it started right now.

****

“OK, so how long’s the waiter ‘waited’ Crocker?” I asked crossly. My quiet evening at home had lasted all of two hours before I received a call from my detective to say he thought our cover had been blown. Earlier he'd phoned reception to order room service, but the waiter who brought it up to the room had put so much effort into it Crocker had grown suspicious and had called Saperstein who was down in reception and asked him to check the guy out. Spotting the waiter as he crossed the lobby Saperstein had followed him as he headed outside and watched as he got into a waiting car which had then driven off at speed.

“The manager said he started tonight, but he then leaves two hours early. Saperstein said the guy he left with in the car could have been the bald-headed guy that she saw.” 

“Alright. Get on the phone to McNeil… and set it up.” I ordered. Crocker picked up the telephone and called the front desk and arranged our check-out, then he phoned the precinct. I walked over to Mrs Sandler who was sat nervously on one of the sofas.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Probably nothing,” I replied, “but let’s face it, I mean at THESE prices the room service in this hotel stinks, so I figure that tomorrow morning we’ll change the hotel.” 

“Well… if you think that the waiter’s a spy or something… why didn’t you just arrest him?” She replied.

“For what?” I asked.

“For what? You’re asking ME? For SUSPICION!” She replied

“Suspicion of WHAT?” I asked. Mrs Sandler looked at me with her mouth open, and then looked over at Crocker and Holloway

“What a great bunch of protectors I got! This is getting a little scary…” We looked one another in the eye. “You wouldn’t stay with us would you Kojak? Please?” She asked. I didn’t want to undermine Crocker’s abilities, but could see Mrs Sandler was genuinely afraid, and made the decision.

“Hey, where am I going and besides, who loves ya?” I smiled at her, and she gave me a slight smile back. 

Last Thursday morning

After waiting all night for the arrangements to be made we set off the following morning for Ellensburg, New Jersey. Crocker was sat up front with me, while Holloway, Mrs Sandler and her dog were in the back.

“Ellensburg… what’s in Ellensburg?” Mrs Sandler asked sarcastically.

“A nice quiet motel, trees, a lake..." I replied.

“First class didn’t last long did it,” Mrs Sandler remarked. Crocker looked back at Holloway and grinned. He was showing far more restraint than I’d have thought possible. I looked in the rear-view mirror.

“You kiddin'? It’s a nice place, and it’ll be easier to keep tabs on arrivals and departures.” I pulled off the road and into the motel driveway.

Last Thursday afternoon

I looked round the motel room. It was small but perfectly adequate and we made ourselves as comfortable as we could. Mrs Sandler had challenged Crocker to a game of cards and the two of them were seated at a small round table, while I sat between them drinking coffee and Holloway was stood behind us holding the dog.

“Gin!” I heard Mrs Sandler say and noticed the evil grin on her face. Crocker looked at her in disbelief and then got up and walked round the room. "'Junior' you play so lousy, nobody could do that by accident, you must have had lessons.” Crocker is just about the worst card player I've ever seen, but he’d probably thought even HE could beat a helpless little old lady. But he’d guessed wrong; Bernice Sandler was anything but a helpless little old lady and besides, I’d noticed early in their game that she was cheating. I picked up the cards and sat in the seat Crocker had just vacated.

“And as for me… I’m going to pulverise you.” I remarked. She looked over at Crocker who was busy fastening his tie.

“Hey what are YOU getting all dolled up for?” She asked suddenly full of concern. I had the feeling she was fonder of my detective than she wanted to admit.

“Well as soon as our illustrious Detective Stavros gets here, I’ve got the night off.” Crocker replied.

“When do I get a night off?” she demanded.

“Look; after the weekend you’ll no longer be a witness, but HE’LL still be a cop.” I pointed out. She looked at me with an expression of sadness on her face.

“Kojak: why did they do what they did to Koster?” She asked.

“You mean murder him?” I replied.

“Yeah.”

“Well the way we got it figured, that wasn’t necessary,” I informed her.

“Yeah but… tell me why… I wanna understand.” She asked.

“Alright: now if we’d picked him up for dealing in illegal arms he would have blown the whistle on the guys he sold them to right? Who in turn were selling them to children in the street, and there were children killing children. It was just one loose thread and the more you pulled it the more it became untwined, so poop poop poop, snip snip,” I moved my fingers like scissors cutting an imaginary thread, “they got rid of him.”

“So what happens to Baylis?” She asked.

“That’s not my 'ball game', I don’t know.” I replied.

“In other words he could be paroled in eight or nine years?” she asked, panicking.

“It’s not impossible.” I told her truthfully. She took a deep breath.

“So what am I supposed to do? Pray that I die peaceful in bed before he gets out?” She remarked angrily.

“Bernice, you have better ways to live your life!” I flirted. The telephone began to ring. Crocker walked over and picked up the receiver.

“So you’re telling me in my old age I’m getting married to all the cops right?” I gently smiled at her.

“Darlin’, you’re being over-dramatic.” 

“Oh Kojak, I sincerely hope so.” I smiled at her. Crocker put down the telephone and came over to us note pad in hand. 

“That was Stavros; he’ll be here in a little while. "He looked at Mrs Sandler," Do you know a Mr Stern; real estate man who owns your building?” He asked. 

“No not by name,” she replied.

“Well here’s a number they want you to call. Seems they want to pay you to clear out of your apartment.” She looked shocked.

“Pay me to clear out…? I aint moving NO place, not at my age!” I stood up. “Hey where are YOU goin'? You checkin' out too?” She asked, panicking. I took her hand.

“No, no,” I reassured her, “but I got about thirty-six other detectives, and fourteen cases either pending or active, but I’ll be back darlin', and I’ll be bringing a bottle of Manny Shepherd’s wine and a marked deck of cards.” I kissed her hand. Holloway handed me my jacket, I thanked her and made to leave, stopping to speak to Crocker as he opened the door for me. 

“Now what’s this about the real estate man and the ‘Gin Rummy Hustler’?” I asked him, using the nickname I’d just made-up for Mrs Sandler.

“The agency called Stavros and asked him to have HER call them,” Crocker replied. I put my jacket on and walked through the door. 

****

I’d only driven couple of miles down the road when a lightning bolt hit me. I screech to a halt.

“Stavros! How did they know to get in touch with HIM?” I asked myself. I quickly turned the car round and headed back to the motel. By the time I got there two men armed with shotguns were making their way to our room using the maid as cover. I honked the horn as a warning to my team. 

I ducked down quickly as a shotgun blast took out my windshield. Gunshots were exchanged before the two men ran to a nearby car, got in and drove off. Crocker ran out of the motel and got into my car as I reversed and headed back to the highway. 

The road was dusty with twists and turns, and there was no way to get a clear shot. We spotted the two men in the car ahead of us and watched alarmed as they overtook another vehicle and narrowly avoided colliding with a motorcyclist who crashed into the dirt. Taking the next bend too fast the two men were unable to avoid a road repair vehicle and losing control ran off the road. The car came to a halt in the dirt and then exploded into a ball of flame. I screeched to a halt and together Crocker and I ran to the scene, but there was nothing we could do.

“I didn’t see Clifford in there,” I remarked to my detective.

“I didn’t either, but we’ll pick him up for questioning.” He replied. We looked at burning car.

“I wonder what THAT’s like,” I asked. Crocker looked at me with disbelief.

“I’m sure they’d have been GLAD to show you!” He replied crossly. We made our way back to the car and, after notifying the local gendarmerie headed back to the motel, checking on the motorcyclist on the way.

Last Friday morning

We arrived outside Grand Jury Court Number Eight complete with our nervous witness. The two men in the car had died instantly, Jerry Baylis was in custody and just last night he’d been joined by Marty Clifford. We were home and dry.

“Ah tell me something Kojak,” Mrs Sandler asked, “did you ever have a witness before that… that you spent all this time on, with the motels and the hotels… and the meals…” She looked into the court room, “and then did you ever have one of them go in there…” she pointed to the witness stand, “and not open her 'yap', you know just for laughs?” she laughed nervously.

“Bernice when did you ever play a losin' game?” I asked back.

“I don’t know; some people bring out the worst in me.” She rubbed her back. “I got a broken rib from the time that, what’s her name, Doris, the cop… she fell on top of me.” I looked at Crocker.

“Yeah, well I’m sure she was just doing her best," he replied kindly. Bernice also looked at Crocker who nodded to her.

“Well I guess all of you could be dead by now for doin' what you did,” She replied, finally showing some gratitude.

“Hey that would be too embarrassing, come on.” Bobby smiled shyly at her. She looked fondly at him,

“Look at that face,” she remarked before grabbing him and kissing him on the cheek.

“Hey: for me nothin' right!” I remarked. She began to reach out for me but a clerk arrived to tell her they were ready for her and led her over to the witness stand. We remained by the doorway for a while, watching.

“Has it happened before?” Crocker asked. I took a sip from the drink in my hand and nodded. 

“Oh yeah.”

We watched from the door as Bernice took the stand and raised her right hand. 

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the court official asked.

We looked at her, she looked at us and after what seemed like an eternity said “I do.”

Satisfied our work was done, we headed back to the precinct. 

Present day

“So what were YOU like as a kid?” I heard Rizzo ask Crocker as he walked into the squad room. I immediately stopped pouring my coffee and held my breath. It had been a quiet few hours and the men had been happily exchanging childhood memories.

“You’ve seen The Exorcist right?” My detective replied as he hung his coat up and then sat himself down at one of the desks facing my door. The room erupted with laughter, but I noticed Crocker wasn’t smiling. He rarely talks about his childhood and never about the early years. I silently blessed Stavros when he directed the conversation back to himself. I didn’t think my large friend knew any more about Crocker's background than I did, but like me he knew, or had guessed, enough.

I know from his personnel file that Crocker was born somewhere in Jackson Heights to a Latina mother and an unknown father. I also know he has a younger sister, but none of us has ever met her, even though he’s been with the squad for over a year now. I know that his mother died when he was ten years old and that some time after he and his sister were fostered by some friends of mine who live over on 91st Street: a small Irish 'island' in the midst of an Hispanic 'sea'. I know that when my friends had taken him in his surname had been changed, although I didn’t know the reason why. And I've also guessed from the way he sometimes finches when I reach out to touch him and the way he drops his head when he thinks he’s let me down, that sometime way back when, he's been badly hurt, and has built a wall around himself as protection. 

But I also know that despite his hard as nails persona and that hot head of his, which could give Mount Vesuvius a run for its money, he is one of the kindest and gentlest people l've ever met, and one hell of a police officer, and today he received the gift of a kiss from someone who only a few days ago was hostile and unfriendly toward him. But with patience and a little kindness he’d charmed her the way he charmed everyone. Absently I looked out into the squad room. Crocker was busy typing up the report on our latest case, and when he thought no one was looking I saw him touch his cheek and smile.


End file.
